


Wildfire

by dhyanshiva



Series: Phoenix [1]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhyanshiva/pseuds/dhyanshiva
Summary: Prequel to "Shadows" - Aman's perspective.This is part of a backstory for Kartik and is tied to the development of Kartik and Aman's relationship. It's slightly canon divergent.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: Phoenix [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669090
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Wildfire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enigma3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/gifts).



> This piece can be read as a stand alone (but it's also a prequel to my other piece 'Shadows'. I felt the need to address what may have gone through Aman's mind when he locked himself in the room. Members of the LGBTQIA+ community are more often than not no strangers to pain. There were many direct mentions of suicide and the manner in which it was done left a very bad taste in my mouth. I don't claim to know exactly what pain can be experienced but I believe that Aman emerging with an agreement to marry Kusum was no less than signing up for a thousand deaths each day for the rest of his life. All on the condition that Kartik be left alone. SMZS is a rom com and this was a mere suggestion but the fact is that many queer people are driven to suicide out of desperation and pain that they can no longer handle - this was one of the alternate routes.
> 
> Also, I can't write explicitly of abuse and homophobic behaviour but I'll put out a trigger warning here - please do not read if you'll be affected. Lastly, I do not claim to know what a person experiences during an anxiety and/or panic attack - hence, I've only alluded to it. If any of you have any concerns, please do not hesitate to comment below.
> 
> Much love,  
> Dhyan

Aman couldn’t take this any longer. Through blurred vision, he raced towards the stairs, heartache worsening as he ignored Kartik’s outstretched arms and pleading expression. He scaled them two at a time and flung open his door, rushing inside and slamming it shut behind him, the bang momentarily silencing the pleas of the women downstairs. Aman could feel his lungs burning and pulse skyrocket as he finally let the tears fall. Barely making it to the edge of his bed, he collapsed, burying his head in his hands, tugging at his hair furiously, ignoring the pain. At any rate, this was nothing compared to the turmoil Kartik was facing – again – this time at the hands of his father. Aman’s chest tightened at the memory of that night, the anguish he’d seen in Kartik – the devastation that had also paved the way for the beginning of their wonderful relationship.

3 years ago

Aman was reading through an interesting blog post, winding down for the night when the doorbell rang, once, twice, thrice in quick succession. Puzzled, he rose from the sofa, crossing the short expanse between the living room and his front door, wondering who it could possibly be this late at night. Usually, he was quite cautious, being so new to this city but something told him that there was nothing to fear of whoever was on the other side – in fact, the unease was for the person. Quickly undoing the locks, he pulled open the door and the sight that greeted him was such a shock that he was silenced. His wide – eyed gaze met a pair of familiar eyes but there was something off about them. He didn’t get the time to pinpoint the difference. Aman barely held back a gasp as his gaze swept over the taller man’s face, his slumped shoulders. The man seemed to be folding in on himself. Instinctively, Aman raised his arms and Kartik fell into them, burying his face in Aman’s shoulder, arms tight around his back, holding on for dear life. Something told Aman that he quite literally was, and his concern heightened fear causing his heart rate to quicken. 

They stood there for a long moment, at the threshold of Aman’s home, suspended in time till the shaking of Kartik’s torso and muffled sobs drove Aman to move. Breaking their embrace, he put one arm around the other man’s waist, reached out to grab hold of the luggage stranded on the porch and took them inside. Aman’s mind was spinning, worry and confusion overwhelming him. Only the warmth of an actual person beside him and the chill from outside biting at his exposed skin kept him from believing that this was a hallucination caused by sleep deprivation. This was reality, a harsh, unforgiving one at that.

He lowered them both onto the sofa and removed his arm from around Kartik’s waist, rising once more to get what was required from the kitchen. A soft voice called out to him and it jarred Aman even worse than Kartik’s appearance did. The injury wasn’t just skin deep, evidently – whatever had happened hit Kartik where it hurt the most - his soul. Turning back and crouching in front of him to make direct eye contact, Aman gave him a small smile, hoping it was reassuring, not pained. 

“I’m just going to get some ice, the swelling needs to reduce, okay?” 

Rising, Aman spun around and almost ran to the kitchen, hoping to hide his pain from Kartik. Leaning against the counter, he tried taking a few deep breaths; this wasn’t the time to panic and spiral, he had to be there for Kartik. Quickly, he collected the ice pack and filled a glass with water then returned to the living room. Placing the glass on the coffee table, he opened a drawer and dug around a bit for the tube of salve to apply to Kartik’s cheekbone. Turning to face him, Aman’s heart clenched at the sight of dried tear tracks on his face and vacant, unfocused eyes. Kartik barely flinched at the chill of ice pressed against his cheek. Aman held it there for a minute, seeing as Kartik didn’t have it in him in the least. The next few minutes passed in absolute silence. The only reaction from the battered man was a slight wince when the salve stung against the shining bruise.

Without another word, Aman took Kartik’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and waited. It wouldn’t do to push Kartik – not that he was obliged to tell him what had happened, of course – but Aman needed him to come out of this daze and back to reality. There was nothing more dangerous than reliving the experience right now. A soft, trembling voice brought Aman out of his thoughts and Kartik leaned in, resting his weary head on his shoulder. Aman felt Kartik relax slightly as the recount began and he listened in rapt attention.

A few hours ago

Kartik couldn’t exactly justify to himself why he was here – there wasn’t a valid reason, he just was. It was jarring to see that almost nothing had changed. The owner of the corner shop was just an odd 20 years older, the ratty buildings a little worse for wear, more so than before, the streets crowded with a new generation of children. He didn’t expect anything to go wrong – no one would be able to recognise him. Yet he couldn’t seem to shake a sense of foreboding and unease from his system. Trying to push it to the back of his mind, Kartik tightened his grip on the small travel suitcase and resumed his journey toward the alleyway that opened out into his old neighbourhood, where he’d survived with his sorry excuse of a father. 

As he’d learnt all too well over the years, appearances can be deceptive. No one had ever suspected that a young man had endured so much from a man who was supposed to love his child unconditionally. And if they did, no one ever did anything about it – he had marks and memories to prove it. Hence, Kartik was thankful to have left when he did, small mercies, he supposed. Nonetheless, he was back, even if it were just to finally close the chapter of his life that continued to haunt him to this day. Gathering his dwindling courage and refocusing his attention, Kartik continued onward.

Walking along those familiar paths was a confusing experience - Kartik couldn’t identify the emotions coursing through him. At the forefront of his mind was all this pain that came storming through the barriers he’d erected but hidden away, back where they’d been forgotten almost entirely were the only happy memories. The ones with his mother and now estranged sister.  
As a little boy, he remembered her melodious voice singing lullabies, the comfort of her scent. His sister giving him a cuddle every night before bed, narrating all these exciting stories. These few years were so drastically different to the rest of his childhood and adolescence that they almost felt like a fever dream. The three of them were in a world of their own till one day, it fell apart with the loss of his mother. It was all very sudden, she was there one night, then come morning, she was gone, just like that. The relationship between his mother’s side and father was already terribly strained and with this tragedy, there was no reason to maintain a façade of acceptance.

Kartik, at just 5 years old, lost his mother and was separated from his sister, then 10 years old all within the span of a week. And that’s when his life became hell – literally. His aunt hadn’t spared a thought for him – ladka hai, baap ke saath hi theek hai – and he faced the consequences. They had a troubled relationship, Kartik always on eggshells around this temperamental, aggressive man but he managed. However, life took an even sharper, more dangerous turn on the eve of his 15th birthday. He’d been spending the evening with his almost – boyfriend (they hadn’t exactly categorised it at that point) when it happened.

They’d been sitting under a tree, Kartik’s head on his shoulder, watching the sunset and exchanging stupid jokes that made Kartik grin so widely his cheeks hurt. Their bodies were pressed close together – close enough to say more than words ever could. They were in their own little world for a while, with no one in their vicinity. To this day, Kartik wonders if he could have avoided the terror that came moments later. He remembers seeing the other boy’s eyes widen in fear seconds before a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, yanking them apart viciously. He barely registered the unbridled fury, the inferno in his father’s eyes before a backhanded slap sent him face first into the gravel, the stones biting into his skin, palms grazing, drawing blood. He heard another harsh sound and the low voice of his father ordering the other boy to run as fast as he could, if he wished to live. And then, he was alone.

With a vice grip on his bicep, the blacksmith dragged him home, the disgust and anger palpable in the air between them. All Kartik remembers of that night is the endless stream of derogatory insults, an assault which soon turned physical. Then, there was a moment of pure adrenaline and fear that drove Kartik to bite as hard as he could into the forearm that had him pinned against the wall. He could see those cold eyes alight with a new kind of hatred and the last thing he saw was a large palm come towards him. He didn’t have time to react and felt a sharp pain, just below his right ear before he fell unconscious.

For the next 3 years, living turned into survival, an instinct that became ingrained into him. He clung desperately on to hopes of escape. He channelled all his emotions into his academic pursuits, pinning his hopes for escape, for the freedom to live, on his education. It was his one chance, the only way and he’d be damned if he let that slip out his hands. And so, the second he’d read and absorbed that letter of admission one glorious Monday, Kartik packed his positions and ran.

Over the next few years, Kartik spent time re discovering who he was, other than this petrified, trapped young man. He gradually learned to embrace his sexuality without reservation and soon, became bold and fearless. He sought out that love he’d locked away in his heart since the age of 5 and in honour of his mother, tried to be as kind, as good as possible. It was difficult, he was forced to deal with cruelty on a daily basis from a small-minded world, but it became easier to handle when he envisioned who he wanted to be. Kartik was nothing if not determined and hard working. So he became relentless and as of today, he believed he’d been successful. Coming out of his memories, Kartik found himself standing at a literal crossroad. One of the three routes lead to ‘his’ street, the other two alleyways draped in shadows.

At this, Kartik abruptly stopped his narration to Aman, his throat closing up, hands becoming clammy. Instantly, Aman’s hand rose to rest against his back, rubbing small circles through his t – shirt. Aman couldn’t bear to listen further, but he knew the worst was far from over. On the one hand, Kartik needed to talk, let it out but the turmoil was causing something akin to a panic attack. Thinking quickly, Aman lifted Kartik’s chin and took both his hands in his own, requesting him to meet his eyes and focus on him alone. They spent the next few minutes easing Kartik away from a panic attack, grounding him. Once his breathing had become less laboured and pupils less dilated, Aman spoke up.

“Kartik, can you continue? You’re not under any pressure to do so. It’s your call, your choice.”

At that last word, Kartik’s eyes welled up anew and Aman panicked, worried he’d said something way out of line and made a massive mistake. Abruptly, Kartik flung his arms around Aman once more, this time with his head resting against Aman’s chest. This surprised him – Kartik was very expressive but this was the first time he’d seen the taller man so open and vulnerable. Granted, they’d only known each other for a few months, but over the course of their friendship (perhaps more? But this wasn’t the time to ponder on this), he’d never seen Kartik let his guard down. He was never cold, always the complete opposite but he kept almost everyone at arm’s length.  
Whatever had happened this evening had completely shattered Kartik, such that the pieces had been scattered and he couldn’t collect them once more. Aman grew worried once more, trying to figure out the unsaid as he embraced the man once more. He wanted to spare Kartik some anguish but try as he might, Aman couldn’t continue and connect the remaining dots.

Pulling away but not establishing more distance, Kartik drew his long legs up to his chest, curling up into a ball. Aman too, adjusted his position on the sofa to become more comfortable, turning slightly, angling his body towards his friend, trying to convey his support and protection through his stance. Knowing he needed it, Aman reached out to grasp Kartik’s hand in reassurance once more and the small smile and relaxing of his shoulders told Aman that it was enough – the gratitude in his eyes broke Aman’s heart. Evidently, Kartik hadn’t expected it and Aman felt a flash of anger at the “father” that made this wonderful man believe such a lie.  
Kartik shut his eyes as a stray tear slipped out , he could feel it fall and once more, he saw that street in his minds eye. Kartik had stood there a moment, saying his final goodbyes, closing that last page once and for all. He’d felt a burden lift of his shoulders as he turned to leave. Then came the storm. 

He remembered that unease hit him out of nowhere and a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder. The contact sent fear shooting down his spine. No, it couldn’t be. What were the chances? Kartik had assumed it to be 0% - a mistake, evidently. Turning around, he looked straight into those familiar yet alien eyes once more. Time had done Kartik some good, the two stood at the same height now, so no matter how small he felt himself becoming on the inside, Kartik sought comfort in the fact that he wasn’t easy to intimidate in this way. No, the fear came from those eyes, not the bulky physique.

His father was a blacksmith and Kartik had long understood the fact that at some point, this man’s soul had been replaced by darkness. Even at the age of 5, he has no recollection of a smile from him, never. As a result, he’d never expected a single thing from him, except the tiniest shred of human decency. On that fateful night, that miniscule hope vanished too. Apparently, that was too tall an order, even today. This was a man who worked with flames. He knew how long to expose a piece of metal to fire before damage was done. He saw the boy as nothing more than something to mold, shape to his will. He had no qualms about harming him and those calloused hands and manic, burning, dangerous eyes had hurt Karthik time and again. He sent this young man through fire over and over till he was scorched, branded in more ways than one.

With courage he could barely retain, Kartik met his gaze with a blank face. It truly was fucked up the ways in which “paternal instinct” seemed to operate here. Somehow, he was recognised so many years later and this monster saw it as his duty to impart “lessons” on his “son” even now, when so much time had passed. Kartik resisted the urge to reach out and run his fingers over the glorious Ardhanarishwar tattoo on his forearm. It was one of his tells, that of fear and nervousness. Not that his father would know, but Kartik knew what would come his way if he saw the illustration – more derogatory terms and insults flung at him and the holy entity for being the embodiment that the modern world seemed to have conveniently forgotten about and termed a ‘sin’ in human beings today.

What he hadn’t counted upon was multiple people appearing behind the blacksmith but their identities didn’t surprise him in the slightest. These were the men he’d referred to as ‘uncle’ innumerable times – an Indian ‘tradition’ but in his case, the term was as hollow as ‘papa’. So, really, there was no room for disappointment. He could take multiple punches; it had happened now and then by other grown men during university from a similar kind of people. Then out came the rods and Kartik felt perspiration on his forehead and fear grip his heart – a sensation he thought he’d never feel again.

Within seconds, he was turned into that 15 year old boy once more and this time, he stayed conscious through the entire ordeal, each hit knocking him, his confidence further towards the ground, down till its out of reach. At some point, he lost count and by then, he couldn’t recall if it ever existed. And that hurt more than the physical injuries. Thanks to the same man, he’d lost his confidence twice. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to regain it this time. Each scornful name and claim wiped clean those mantras of self love he’d chanted each night. Everything was unravelling, the delicate beautiful web he’d spun so painstakingly being slashed at by ugliness and hatred – it hurt to watch those strands break. Kartik tried desperately to block out reality though he felt it seep through the cracks of his walls and poison his heart and soul once more, despite his attempts. And so, Kartik Singh threw up his hands in defeat, covering his bruised face, begging them to let him go.

Kartik didn’t know how long he lay curled up in the alley, shrouded in shadows, his luggage covered in stains of his own blood, with dusty footprints to boot. Eventually, he eased himself up, using the grimy wall as support. Slowly, he reached back and pulled the hood over his hair, hoping it covered his face. Reaching out to pick up his luggage, he looked around to see that the streets were deserted and sighed in relief. As quickly as his body allowed him, Kartik made his way out of the maze and hailed an auto. Thankfully, those men hadn’t mugged him so he could allow himself this luxury. Unthinking, he blurted out the first address that came to mind and climbed in – this one.  
Letting out a long sigh, Kartik looked up fearfully at Aman, not knowing what he’d see. Aman was completely silent, knowing that words couldn’t possibly encapsulate the storm of emotions brewing within him. But seeing the apprehension seep out of Kartik’s gaze said enough. This time sobbing in relief, he fell into Aman’s outstretched arms and cried, occasional murmurs of thank you mingling with the sobs. Aman constantly whispered assurances and words of encouragement in his ear, rocking them back and forth. He pressed a soft kiss on his tousled hair, almost without second thought. They sat like that for a long while, both drawing and seeking comfort. Soon, Aman felt Kartik leaning completely against him and the sobs turn to whimpers then die out almost completely. Glancing up, he wasn’t surprised to see that it was nearing 3AM. This had left them both exhausted and rest, especially for Kartik, was long overdue. They’d deal with the aftermath of this come morning, together. 

Somewhere in Kartik’s story, Aman felt a previously unnamed emotion finally find a label – love. Pure unconditional love. To hear of his bravery, his resilience, his strength, the beauty of his soul was nothing short of astounding. Yes, objectively (and subjectively too, if he was being honest with himself), Kartik was a very handsome man. But beauty, for Aman, was more than just skin deep. He’d always know that Kartik was the embodiment of sunshine – goodness knows he knew how to make people feel his warmth and exuberance – but today he heard the story of the inception of this sun. Kartik had turned those scorching flames into gentle sun beams and it illuminated him from within. Where his father’s soul was nothing but a dark hole, Kartik’s was the sun, who imparted light even in the darkest of nights.  
Along with this realisation, Aman came to understand something much more profound. This was devastating but the pain had laid an unshakeable foundation for their friendship. Who knew if their relationship would ever incorporate another dimension? Only time and fate would tell. But Aman knew this without a doubt: he would never let Kartik go, ever.

Smiling softly, Aman reached out to rouse Kartik – he wasn’t going to let him sleep on the couch. A half asleep Kartik leaned heavily against him as they made their way to Aman’s room. Lowering him gently onto the mattress, Aman smiled fondly as Kartik reached out for the duvet almost instantly, asleep in seconds. Within the next 20 minutes, Aman had laid out a spare mattress on the floor next to the bed, left a jug of water on the table and fallen asleep, comforted in the knowledge that Kartik’s burden had lessened somewhat and that he was in a safe space.

Back to the present day

Aman let out a guttural, painful scream till he felt his throat burn and eyes sting. Once again, Kartik had been let down, this time from people he had expectations from. People like his father, like him. Aman felt the guilt worsen, he’d broken the promise made all those years ago and, in the process, let down both himself and Kartik. Now, it was night time, hours had passed, and it was 3AM – this truly seemed to have come full circle. But no, he wouldn’t let the cycle repeat itself. This wasn’t ‘full circle’, it was the end of the road, a journey that shouldn’t have been drawn out till today in the first place. Kartik had been strong, for himself on multiple occasions, and for the both of them while dealing with his parents specifically. It was Aman’s duty now, to join in him battle. He didn’t know if they’d emerge victorious or be defeated. That wasn’t the point – whatever the outcome, they’d face it together. Aman pocketed his phone and stood up, filled with determination and stepped out of his room. Making his way to the room down the corridor, he hoped for the best but first and foremost, Kartik’s forgiveness. Coming to a stop at the door, he knocked, dropped his fist and waited.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to SYML's Wildfire (Vevo Performance) while writing this and then switched to "Lay By Me" by Ruben.  
> This is dedicated to a very special person because of how moved I was by both their piece "Perfect" and a beautiful caption about our Kartik Singh on their Instagram page @ smzsmemes. I hope I encapsulated his beauty in this piece at least a fraction as well as you did!


End file.
